


Kirschtein!!

by charis2770



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Again, Angst and Humor, Corporal Punishment, Discipline, Erwin Smith is a good Commander, Jean is in trouble, M/M, Punishment, Writing this made me love Jean so much, short slash at the end, sweet baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-13 01:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2132223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charis2770/pseuds/charis2770
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a request on my Tumblr blog, BDSMfordummies-with-erwin-smith</p><p>Jean is the Survey Corps' biggest troublemaker, or he was before Marco was returned to him. This story is a flashback to one of the times his pranks left his Commander no choice but to discipline him for disrespect, even if in his heart, Jean really does have lots of respect for Erwin Smith. Sometimes he just feels so awful inside that he's got to do something so that he knows Erwin will force him to let it all out. It is sometimes the only way he knows to survive. Erwin, for his part, likes Jean and feels sorry for him, but there are some things he just can't allow. Including turning his horse really unnatural colors. Even if it is pretty funny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kirschtein!!

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains sort of a non-consensual disciplinary strapping of a soldier. It's only sort of against Jean's will because deep inside, he's acting out on purpose...and also in this world, though it is canon-compliant in a lot of ways, corporal punishment is Erwin Smith's chosen method of enforcing the rules within the Survey Corps, and everyone has to agree to it when they join. For the most part, they don't really mind. It's over a lot sooner than scrubbing toilets or peeling potatoes or running laps or doing tons of pointless pushups. 
> 
> The punishment is administered with compassion, but is still kind of intense. Jean is a real pain in the ass, after all.
> 
> This story is an accompaniment to my blog, bdsmfordummies-with-erwin-smith.tumblr.com, wherein pretty much everyone is a pervert and into some kinky shirt or other and Erwin tries to make sure they're all practicing healthy, safe BDSM as well as maintaining discipline. It complies with canon in most ways, except for me imposing my kinks on everyone and shipping who I like to ship and making pretty much everybody except Sasha and Connie not very straight at all. And as it is my world, I keep people alive who I like, which means Mike and Marco are very much still around. 
> 
> This story is a flashback, as currently on the blog Marco has come back from the dead and he and Jean are having lots of very happy, kinky, extremely awesome gay sex. A lot of followers seemed really interested in the trouble Jean got into before that though, so Erwin is reminiscing. It's a little angsty. Poor sweet baby. I didn't even LIKE Jean that much until I started to write about him and the little shit wormed his way into my heart and set up house there and demanded that I love and keep him. And now he is my baby like Armin and Eren. So I'm torturing him a little.

“Kirschtein!”

 

The voice cuts through the buzz of conversation, the clink of silverware on stoneware, soft thunk of mugs being set down that is the mess during supper. He looks up, a forkful of roast fowl (the hunting parties had been lucky today) halfway to his mouth. It’s one of the cadets, so young, just out of training, still wet behind the ears. Since Eren had set the precedent, and after Trost, they don’t ONLY get the ones not good enough for the Military Police (and how interesting, isn’t it, that the MP have it set up so they’re the ones who get the best of the best all this time? Yeah, his eyes have been opened about that and it’s the only thing about losing Marco he’s not sorry for, because if not for that, he’d be one of them. One of the bad guys. And Jean has dreamed of being a hero most of his life, even if he mostly falls short of it by being kind of a dick instead. At least he knows he’s on the right side of things!), but even if they do get some of the good ones now, they also still get the rejects. The ones Erwin uses as errand-boys and pages tend to be from the latter grouping, the Commander doing his best to make them useful without getting them killed in their first few weeks. So this one’s enthusiasm for his job is probably because he’s well aware Erwin’s giving him a break, and he’s determined to be good at it. Jean really loves poking at them, the ridiculously young, slightly inept, and absurdly enthusiastic little pages of which Smith has way too many. He finishes bringing the fork to his lips and chews the bite of meat slowly and thoroughly. He’s pretty sure he knows why the kid is here, and he’s not in any hurry to find out for sure. Across the table, Berthold nudges Reiner with his elbow and they both smirk at Jean. He flips them off and crams in a bite of mashed parsnips, then adds some flatbread so that his cheeks are distended by all the food in his mouth.

 

“Somebody’s in trouble,” singsongs one of the other soldiers at their table. Jean flips him off too and glares.

 

“What’d you do this time, Kirschtein?” asks Reiner curiously. Reiner and Berthold never seem to get into trouble with the Commander, the saps.

 

“Nuffmphmn,” says Jean sourly, in no hurry to finish chewing.

 

The page makes his way through the aisles between tables eventually, and taps him on the shoulder. He flaps a hand dismissively and points to his mouth to indicate that he cannot possibly talk with his mouth full.

 

“The Commander wants to see you, Mr. Kirschtein,” chirps the page. Jesus, he’s young. Jean ignores the fact that they’re probably only a few months apart in actual age. The kid hasn’t seen combat, and that  makes all the difference in the world.

 

“I know what he did,” pipes up Arlert, the little shit. Why isn’t he having dinner with Zacharius anyway? He’s hardly ever at the mess hall these days. Mike must be out on some kind of assignment, and it makes Armin too aware of how worried he is for his huge lover to eat alone in their cabin. Jean glares poisonously at Armin, who sticks out his tongue and grins unrepentantly. Little shit’s grown a set since he’s sharing a bed with basically the biggest guy in the corps, even if he’s not the tallest. “He’s the one who dyed the Commander’s horse with the bluing we got the other day.”

 

There’s a lot of laughter and nudging with elbows going on for a minute, and more than one person slaps him on the back and congratulates him on a good one. It says a lot about the kind of man Smith is that they’re not scared to laugh about it, and that kind of makes Jean feel like a dick, but he basks in the general congratulatory praise anyway. It had been pretty funny all right, and the only way to get rid of the distinct blue tint to the animal’s hair is to wait for it to wear off. The messenger boy looks around a little nervously, because no one’s really trying to make his job any easier, and Jean’s not paying attention to him at all.

 

“Um,” he tries gamely, “He…Commander Smith…said right away!”

 

Jean points at his mouth again, to which he’s added more food, and chews in an exaggerated fashion.

 

“Man, you’re in deep shit,” says Eren, a little bit gleefully. This is probably because he himself had had to pay Smith a visit a couple of days ago for arguing with a superior officer. And since exactly no one who actually knows Eren ISN’T aware of the nature of his relationship with Corporal Levi, they’d all known he’d gotten much worse from his lover once the Commander was done with him. Jean doesn’t get why anybody feels any sympathy for him. Eren’d fucking heal from it in a few minutes even if Levi beat him bloody with a damned horsewhip instead of just striping his ass with a riding crop. Geez.

 

“Shut up, Jaeger,” mutters Jean, forgetting that his mouth’s supposed to be too full to talk.

 

“Um. Mr. Kirschtein? Commander Smith said to tell you…if um…if you weren’t….um…cooperative? That if you made him wait…it would….would um….be a lot worse,” stammers the page, blushing scarlet and talking to his toes. The 104 th has gained kind of a legendary reputation among the newbies since their unheard-of heroics in accessing the supply depot full of titans with empty tanks, so all of them tend to get treated with a certain amount of deference by all the kids who’ve joined the Legion since that fateful day. Jean can’t bring himself to lord it over them, even though it would totally be his style to do so, because he’d lost way too much that day to act gleeful about it.

 

The threat works though, as Jean feels his mouth go dry and his appetite vanish without a trace. Unfortunately, he’s pretty well acquainted with what the Commander means by worse.  The man obviously has it in for him. Sighing, and cursing the man’s timing inwardly, that he has to get up and go to his doom in front of essentially the entire scouting legion, he pushes his chair back and stands up. As he turns and follows the page out of the hall, the grins like he doesn’t care and laughs at the catcalls and gibes, joking around with everyone so they’ll see how totally cool he is, and how supremely NOT-scared he is, and think that he’s awesome.

 

Fortunately, Jean’s become a really good actor in the last several months, so there’s not anyone who knows him well enough to tell that his stomach is tied in knots and his throat wants to close up and that he’s just plain terrified. He knows he’s not going to get off with a stern talking-to. The days when Smith was willing to settle for that with Jean are long past. No, the best he’s got to hope for now is that the Commander isn’t TOO pissed about it, because that’s going to determine what he uses for the punishment. Sometimes it’s one of a couple of different leather straps, supple and well-oiled. One of them’s only about the weight and thickness of a normal belt, the other’s made from a piece of discarded harness and is twice and thick and hurts considerably more. Then there’s his riding crop, stiff but flexible, with the knot of the keeper at the end that bites deep, and every stroke from the damn thing feels like it’s splitting Jean’s skin. There’s the cat, with its half-dozen stiff leather thongs that bite into skin like hornets’ stings and you get that one from your shoulders down nearly to the backs of your knees, but he’s pretty sure it won’t be that, because the Commander saves that one for the times when you’ve done something so monumentally stupid that you’re lucky you haven’t gotten yourself or someone else killed. Erwin never whips anyone who DOES get someone else killed. That’s part of why his soldiers love him. He’s not just fair, he’s compassionate. Not that Jean’s on the receiving end of a lot of that compassion, he thinks sullenly.

 

*******

He imagines poor Jean isn’t remotely aware of how much Erwin really does feel bad for him. He hadn’t known Marco, but he makes it a habit to know his soldiers, and so he’s had reports from virtually all the 104 th who are now members of the Survey Corps about the two of them. He understands why Jean acts out the way he does. He imagines how he’d feel if he lost Levi, and it makes him feel sick. By all reports, Jean and Marco had been one of those rare pairings that even a blind man could see was a straight-up soul bond. Even while Marco had been alive, both of them had been noticeably malfunctioning whenever they were assigned any task without the other. They simply worked best as a team, everything about them both better when they were together. Jean is barely half a human being now, and Erwin’s heart aches for him. So he cuts Jean a lot of slack, out of compassion for his pain. But there’s really only so far that can go when the pranks and cruel jokes are blatantly disrespectful of his authority. Although he’s pretty sure Jean doesn’t appreciate it, his punishments aren’t anywhere near as severe as they’d be if he were a whole person.

 

Erwin has time to finish several incident reports, to be sent to the King. He chooses his words carefully. It’s been a long time now since he’s been meticulously truthful in these reports. He knows what to say and how to say it, to bring down less censure upon his innocent and overworked troops. He’d lost a couple of good men who hadn’t deserved it to court martial before he’d clued in to what was going on. That doesn’t happen anymore. He’s grown very careful. He can fill out these reports pretty quickly now, even considering how carefully he has to choose his words, so he’s damn sure Kirschtein’s stalling based on the amount of progress he makes before the earnest little page taps on his door and announces Jean in his chirpy little voice. Erwin keeps writing for another minute or two, to make Jean pay for keeping him waiting. He doesn’t look up until he hears Jean’s boots scuff the floor and his harness creak a little as he starts to fidget nervously. Erwin coughs a bit to hide the chuckle that wants to sneak out. He likes Jean, for all that the boy frustrates him to no end, and he’s actually pretty cute for a bratty little thug. And…though he’ll never admit it, his horse looks hilarious with its coat, mane and tail a faint bluish-purple from the bluing, a laundry additive meant to brighten white cloth when diluted properly. Undiluted, and used on something other than fabric, it imparts a bizarre dye effect. His poor horse looks like a giant blueberry. It’s rather striking, really. He looks up and pins Jean with a blank, cool stare. He’s silent for a long time.

 

“You….ah…wanted to see me, Sir?” mutters Jean at last.

 

“Contrary to what you may believe,” he says calmly, “I rarely WANT to see you, Kirschtein. And yet you persist in the sorts of behavior that require these unpleasant little meetings. Why is that, do you think?”

 

Jean shrugs uncomfortably and fidgets some more. Erwin heaves a put-upon sigh and rises to go and stand (oh all right, he looms a little, possibly on purpose) in front of Jean. The boy’s cheeks flush and he stares, apparently fascinated, at his boots. Erwin waits a while, then lifts Jean’s chin with his fingertips. Jean’s shoulders creep up to the vicinity of his ears.

 

“Jean,” he says softly, “There are people who care about you, who would help you.”

 

Jean’s eyes dart away from his and for just a moment, begin to fill with the shine of tears. Jean blinks furiously and jerks his chin out of Erwin’s fingers.

 

“They can’t….they’re not….I’m fine, Commander.”

 

“Just an obnoxious prankster by nature, hmm?”

 

“Yeah,” grumps Jean sullenly. Erwin sighs. “Um. Yes Sir.”

 

“Then we’re going to keep having these little meetings, I suppose. Very well.” He walks back around his desk and opens a drawer. He sees Jean tense out of the corner of his eye, sees the flicker of fear on the young man’s face. His fingers, which had been hovering over the riding crop, wrap instead around the heavier of the two straps he keeps for this purpose. He’d intended to step up the intensity in hopes of truly discouraging Jean’s misbehavior, but part of him thinks Jean can’t help it any more than he can help having brown eyes, and Erwin doesn’t like the fear he sees in them. He doesn’t want Jean to be afraid of him. When he pulls out the strap, Jean’s shoulders sag a little. Smith is almost positive he’s equally relieved as he is nervous about the choice of implements. The heavier strap has one hell of a bite, but it’s still not the riding crop. And there’s no fear in those eyes anymore. Erwin prefers the sullenness he sees now to the fear. At least he knows he can strap the attitude out of the wretch. He could only add to the fear, had he made the other choice.

 

“Really, Kirschtein? My  horse ?”

 

Jean lifts one shoulder in a shrug and peeks up at Erwin. There’s a tiny sparkle in those eyes now, and Jean bites his lip against an “aw shucks” grin.

 

“Um. Sorry, Sir,” he says, digging at a knothole in the floor with his toe. “But you’ve got to admit it was pretty funny.”

 

Erwin can’t prevent the reluctant huff of a small, unintentional laugh that escapes. Jean’s smile grows a little, hopeful.

 

“It would have been funnier if it had been your own horse,” he says sternly. “I might have been able to let you off with a dozen from the belt, and after all these little sessions, you could practically laugh your way through a strapping like that, and we both know it. While I admit the color is unique, I can’t excuse it, Jean. You can’t treat me with that kind of disrespect. My job is horrible enough as it is, do you see?”

 

He finds himself wanting to know that Jean understands why he’s doing this. It isn’t that he can’t get by without their love, it’s just that…he wants it. Wants them to look at him with respect, with care, with the knowledge that he’d give his life for them and that it matters. Jean has the grace to look embarrassed and honestly regretful, which gives him hope that he’s not wasting his time.

 

“I’m sorry, Commander,” he says softly, cramming his fists into his pockets.

 

“Thank you,” he replies, meaning every word. “Now…you know the drill.”

 

*********************

 

Jean sags a little more and slouches closer to the desk. He fumbles a little as he unfastens his belt system at the chest and waist, shrugging off the shoulder straps and then unbuttoning his flies. He has to squirm a little to shove his belts and trousers past his hips and over his ass, blushing scarlet as he always does, bending over swiftly in an attempt to preserve certain bits of his modesty. Erwin very carefully doesn’t look at him until he hears the jingle of buckles go silent. Jean can’t help but appreciate that about the man. At least he doesn’t take the opportunity to get an eyeful of Jean’s equipment, make this more embarrassing than it already is. There’s nothing the least bit lecherous about the way Erwin treats him during their meetings like this one, even though everyone’s pretty sure Erwin’s gay and there are rumors about him and Levi all over the place. He grips the edge of the Commander’s desk tightly, hoping his legs aren’t shaking. Part of him is relieved to get the heavy strap. Erwin’s been pretty frustrated with him lately, and he’d been honestly worried that he’s more than earned a good dose of the crop. He’s only had it once, for sexually harassing Arlert and a couple of the new recruits. He’s never cried or pleaded so hard in his life. It had hurt like nothing else he’s ever felt, and his reaction to it had humiliated and terrified him. But the rest of him is pretty darn intimidated by this strap too, because it hurts like a bitch and he’s gonna bawl like a kid and he  hates  that.

 

Then Erwin’s standing at his hip and it’s time and he stops dwelling on it in favor of biting his lip against the desire to beg Erwin to please, please not, because it’s too late for that. He screws his eyes shut and feels the Commander’s broad hand rest on his lower back. He doesn’t lean into the touch intentionally, but he still does it, a little. For a split second, when the heavy leather comes to rest against his cheeks, he imagines some of his friends crouching outside the window, just waiting to get an earful, but then he senses Smith drawing his arm back.

 

He’s been here before, and yet the impact when it comes is still shocking to him. It is every time. His eyes fly open in startlement. Oh God. He doesn’t feel more than the way it jars him, forces his hips forwards towards the sharp edge of the desk, where it’s really going to hurt if it digs into him, at first. He braces himself a little better, and it’s about then that the actual sensation of it sinks in. He gasps and then grits his teeth. Jesus, but it smarts. The blazing band of heat across the center of his bared cheeks throbs with his heartbeat. Erwin has mostly stopped assigning Jean a number of strokes, and just whales at him until he seems sorry enough. Jean, for reasons he doesn’t even understand himself, is unable to keep himself from fighting it. If he’d just start howling from the beginning and begging for forgiveness like he  wants  to, he’d leave in a lot less pain. Because he IS sorry. He pretends to think the Commander’s a bully and a tyrant, that he has it in for Jean, but in his heart, he kind of loves Erwin, sort of like his dad, in a way. But not, you know, in a creepy way or anything. Just…because Erwin really cares about them. He does everything he can to make things better for them, to help. He doesn’t require things of them he’s not willing to do himself. He never throws their lives away senselessly, and feels every loss like the loss of some crucial part of his own body. He remembers when Levi’s squad was lost. Remembers Levi’s rage and horror, and Mikasa’s, because with all of them lost, there was no one specially assigned to protect Eren. But he also remembers walking past the Commander’s cabin the next night, very late, because he’d been unable to sleep. He’d heard a sound from within, and crept to the open window. Erwin had been alone, sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. Crying. Shouldering the blame for the loss. When members of the Military Police die, nobody takes responsibility for their loss. They blame the dead, who aren’t around to stick up for themselves. That never happens under Erwin Smith. He blames only himself for every loss, because he’s the one who assigns every position, approves every maneuver, every mission. He accepts it all, and carries it on his monumentally strong shoulders. Not because he’s more ripped than anybody else and can carry the most weight, because that award probably goes to Reiner, but because he cares the most and steps up to accept the burden.

 

Jean doesn’t know why he kicks at Smith’s authority when he’s so clearly worthy of every bit of respect anyone can possibly give him. Possibly it is because, when he examines himself too closely, Jean worries that he’s never going to be the kind of hero the others are. He hadn’t wanted to be here, had wanted the cushy assignment represented by the Military Police. Had called them all crazy for joining Erwin’s squad, and only joined them out of a sort of desperate desire NOT to be left out. He’s glad now that he had, that at least it seems like he’s really on the right side for once, but he so easily could have NOT been. He’s not as tough as Eren, nor as fast or powerful as Mikasa, not as brave or smart as little Armin Arlert, as gutsy as tiny little Connie Springer. He’s good, yeah. But only because he’s terrified everyone can see how scared he really is. Without Marco around to make him better than he really is, he’s even more scared of it. So he kicks at everything. Smoke and mirrors. Make them think he’s a dick, so nobody looks too close. Oh God, why is it that bending over for Erwin this way makes him so Goddamned introspective? He opens his mouth to cry out at the fourth stroke, then remembers how tough he is…is supposed to be, snaps it shut and bites the inside of his cheek ferociously to keep the plaintive sound inside.

 

******************************

 

Erwin shakes his head a little. It’s not just Kirschtein. For some reason it’s a besetting weakness most of his troops share, that they have to try to prove how tough they are, how much they can take. He understands it from Levi, who doesn’t WANT him to stop most of the time, and only allows himself to be broken down when he’s damn good and ready, except on the occasions when Erwin IS actually punishing him, in which case he usually does feel shitty for letting Erwin down. Jesus Christ, keeping track of all of them is a damn minefield. Jean HAS to know that Erwin’s going to whale on him until he breaks down from it, shows some remorse. Until he cries. Oh, how Jean hates to cry, is furious with himself when he does, but Erwin understands even if Jean doesn’t, that he needs to. That when Jean does something aimed directly at his Commander which leaves him no choice but to punish him, it is almost always because Jean feels too shitty inside to handle it anymore, but doesn’t know how to let it out on his own. Without Marco, there are very few emotions Jean knows how to handle on his own. He doesn’t think it’s quite the same when he fights with one of his comrades or pokes at poor Armin or the new recruits. There’s just something in Jean that can’t resist poking at things, whether he’s messed up emotionally or not. Erwin thinks that even if Marco were still around, being a shit and a rotten little brat is sort of just part of Jean’s personality. He’ll never admit, even under torture, that he actually finds it kind of cute. Sometimes.

 

Jean heaves a little at the next solid thwack of the strap across the underside of his defenseless backside, and Erwin presses down harder on the small of his back.

 

“Don’t,” he warns softly. “Son, just don’t.”

 

“Fu-fuck,” gasps Jean, bucking again, but not hard enough to break free, not really.

 

“You don’t want me to have to tie you down,” Erwin assures him. “Because I will do it, and then I’ll get the riding crop out of that drawer.”

 

Jean subsides instantly, and can’t quite withhold a tiny whimper that escapes his throat. Erwin eases up on the pressure against the boy’s back and pats him gently, just once, so that Jean can take it as comfort if he wants, or just write it off as Erwin adjusting his hand’s position if he doesn’t. Jean will always pretend he doesn’t want the comfort, at the same time that he always responds to it like a flower in the desert soaking up unexpected rain. He does stop struggling though, to Erwin’s relief. He draws back his arm and lets the strap fall again, a little higher up this time, the sound of the leather on bare flesh like a gunshot in the quiet of his office, the only other sound being Jean’s harsh breathing, and the small cry he can’t quite hold inside on this lash. 

 

Erwin pauses a few seconds between hard, biting strokes. Partly this is to let the pain sink in, to make Jean really feel it. But partly it is to give the young man time to control himself, to react if he’s going to, and then to catch his breath a little. Even though it would be a lot smarter not to fight this so, to let it wash over him and sweep him away, to express his pain and sorrow from the outset…Erwin understands that in some way that’s not why Jean is here, even if he can never admit it. That to get what he needs…something he can’t vocalize because Erwin’s not REALLY the person he wants it from (though he’s overheard Kirschtein bragging about how he threw it to Marco on a regular basis and about all the lovers he’s had since, he has a strong feeling those are lies, and that if Jean’s not a virgin he’ll eat his bolo tie and that even if he wasn’t, it wouldn’t have been him “throwing it” to Marco). His heart aches for Jean, because of all the 104 th , he’s the only one who lost anyone so enormously important to them. But he respects Jean’s feelings, and so he allows him the time he needs between punishing strokes to gather himself, to fight it as long as he can, because he has to.

 

Jean, however, is no Levi. By the dozenth stroke, he’s shuddering and whimpering. By 15, he cries out in pain with each stroke. At 20, he breaks. Erwin slows even more, when Jean starts to cry, his ass red from the crest of his cheeks down to the backs of his legs. He sucks in great gasping breaths and sniffles hard, shaking. Erwin brings the strap up from below to crash over the crease where Jean’s backside meets his thighs and he wails with hurt. Another, half a minute later, in the same spot, and he sobs a little. Nearly there, thinks Erwin, and the thumb of the hand pressed firmly against Jean’s lower back rubs backs and forth gently, just before he straps him hard across the backs of his thighs. Jean bursts out sobbing.

 

“I’m suh-sorry!” he cries plaintively. “Cuh-Commander…Suh-Sir please! Oh…puh-please! I…I’m suh…suh…so SORRY!”

 

“You’re always sorry when you’re being punished, Jean,” says Erwin.

 

“NOO,” howls Jean when the strap connects with his legs again. “Pl-please Sir! OWW! Oh PUH-PLEASE! AHH! No more, nuh-no more, please! I’m sorry! I’m SORRY!” He really sounds like he means it this time, his cries are wrenching and the aching sorrow in his voice makes Erwin’s heart seize up a little in his chest.

 

“Almost there, son,” he murmurs softly. “Just a few more.” He’d stop right now, but if he doesn’t give Jean more than he can take, he won’t consider himself really punished, and he’ll be back here a lot sooner next time. Feeling a little like an asshole at the young man’s heartbroken sobs (Jean’s not exactly crying because of the hurt of the strapping…or not ONLY that, anymore), he whips Jean three more times, as hard as ever, then sets the strap down with an audible thump on his desk, so Jean can hear it and know he’s finished. He stays where he is, clutching the edge of the desk and shaking with sobs, until Erwin tugs him carefully to his feet and into his arms. For a few seconds, Jean leans into the embrace, burrowing his face into Smith’s shirt and clutching at him desperately.

 

“Hush now,” whispers Erwin, holding Jean close and petting him a little. “It’s all over. Shh. It’s all right. You’re a good boy, Jean. Easy now.”

 

The moments don’t last, and soon enough, Jean starts to struggle against Erwin, who lets him go agreeably enough, even though he may wish Jean would let him comfort him a little more, because he hasn’t seen many people more in need of it than this boy is, but that’s wishful thinking. Jean dashes away his tears with the back of his hand and glares, red-faced, at the floor.

 

“I’m fine,” he mumbles wetly, sniffling and staggering back, turning away from Erwin. “Didn’t hurt,” he adds belligerently. Erwin rubs his hand over his mouth to avoid grinning in response, because he knows damn well it hurt like hell, but that’s not what Jean wants to hear right now

.

“Just don’t let me see you back here for that again, Jean. Understand?” he says sternly. Jean looks up at him, bottom lip stuck out in a definite pout and tears clumping his lashes together.

 

“Yes, Sir,” he mumbles. “May I be dismissed, Sir?”

 

Erwin sighs a little, wishing he could assure Jean there’s nothing weak about his response to punishment, that everyone breaks down (well, everyone except Mikasa and Levi, unless they want to) and that it doesn’t make him less of a man, but Jean’s awfully prickly after he’s been whipped, and he’d only take offense.

 

“Dismissed,” says Erwin, and Jean has hiked up his pants, hiding his pained whimper when the rough cloth scrapes over his raw ass under a cough, and is gone in a flash, limping a little and wiping his eyes with his sleeve while also trying to pull the shoulder straps of his harness up with the other hand. He caroms off the door post and curses under his breath, unable to flee the scene fast enough. Erwin sighs again and sits back at his desk, but his heart really isn’t in the paperwork anymore.

 

“So…do I have to paint your horse some horrifying color to get some of that too?” says a rough voice he knows better than his own. He looks up to see Levi leaning in the door Jean has left open. He smiles and beckons with one finger. Levi’s mouth quirks a little and he steps in, pulling the door closed behind him and sliding the latch in place.

 

“Perhaps you could just ask for once,” says Erwin softly, glancing out the window in the direction of the stables, which is where Jean usually goes to hide until he’s got his face under control and can splash cold water on his swollen eyes from the pump to get rid of the evidence of his tears. “I find I’m in desperate need of ministering to someone who appreciates me a little more than my most recent…victim.”

 

“They’re not your victims,” says Levi sharply, rounding the desk and leaning against it, close enough that Erwin can feel the warmth of him. “You’ve never victimized anyone in your life. Jean’s a little prick.”

 

“He’s in pain,” murmurs Erwin, scrubbing a hand over his face.

 

“Oui,” says Levi, hesitating only a moment before he lays a hand on Erwin’s shoulder. “And now, so are you.”

 

“I’ll be all right.”

 

“Oh, I know it. But why don’t we see if we can’t help that along a bit?” And he pushes Erwin roughly back into his chair. Erwin raises his eyebrows, glancing at the window. Levi goes and drops the shade and then does something he does so rarely that it still shocks his Commander when he does it. He climbs into Erwin’s lap and tilts his face up for a kiss.

 

“Levi…”

 

“Don’t get used to it,” growls his prickly pet.

 

“Perish the thought,” chuckles Erwin, hands coming up to rest on Levi’s hips, cock slowly thickening in his pants when Levi does a little bump and grind in his lap.

 

“I’ve been bad,” purrs Levi in his ear, once he’s been assured Erwin won’t take his show of compassion as a demonstration of any new change in the dynamic of their relationship. That it is rare for Levi to do this, to tend him this way, sensing his sadness and wanting to fix it, makes it all the more special.

 

“Have you?” growls Erwin softly back.

 

“Oh yes. Terribly bad. I spit in the tea I brought you earlier.”

 

Erwin can’t quell the shocked laugh that bursts out at this. Levi never spits. Let alone in tea. Nor does he bring it to Erwin. He’s so patently NOT interested in serving his Master that way that it’s impossible not to find the suggestion a little hilarious.

 

“That’s, ah….yes, that’s very bad indeed,” he says once he’s controlled himself, not feeling sad anymore at all. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be punished.”

 

“Must I?” sighs Levi, nipping his ear and humming softly. “I could….do something to make it up to you?”

 

“Could you?”

 

“Mm,” agrees Levi, sliding off his lap, fingers busying themselves with Erwin’s flies. “I could suck your cock for you, if you agreed not to punish me.”

 

“Interesting…ah…offer,” says Erwin, breath hitching a little when a warm mouth closes over the head of his cock. “Why don’t you give it a try and I’ll decide once you’re through?”

 

“Hmm,” hums Levi around his mouthful. Erwin’s fingers card through silky black hair, around the solid curve of his boy’s skull, tugging his face closer and arching his hips a little. Levi, bless him, has very little gag reflex at all, and swallows him down with a soft whine as Erwin’s fingers close into a fist.

 

“You really deserve a good whipping for that though,” gasps Erwin, balls aching with the need to force his cock down Levi’s throat. He doesn’t, but it’s a near thing. “I’m afraid it’s not very likely that you can convince me to let you off the hook.”

 

Levi wrenches his head back and looks up, licking his lips and smirking a little

.

“Oh. Oh no,” he deadpans, “ Please  Sir!”

 

“Please what, you little wretch?”

 

“Please come in my mouth, Sir,” hisses Levi, bending back to his task. How can Erwin refuse him, when he so rarely asks this nicely?

 


End file.
